


Unequivocally, Undoubtedly, Always

by codenamecynic



Series: It came from the tumblr-verse [27]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M, Loss, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamecynic/pseuds/codenamecynic
Summary: Three kisses that never were.  (No explicit death scenes, but warning for safety)





	

When Shepard's eyes flutter open in the medbay on the Normandy, Kaidan is so relieved he could have kissed her on the mouth - and Doctor Chakwas and the Captain, too.

He doesn't, of course.  He's never been that kind of person, too conscious of roles, of regs, of the kind of propriety that turns him into a wallflower even though he's isn't one.  He questions the impulse when relief quickly fades to allow the exhaustion and the pounding of the migraine ravaging his skull to take hold, and he allows himself to be shuffled to the back as she hauls herself up to sit, immediately braced for a barrage of questions.

His presence isn't required, and so he takes it somewhere else where he can be useful, trying to process the data they've collected on Eden Prime until Joker narrows his eyes and gives up the quips and tells him point blank to go to bed.

He just tells himself that he's glad she's alright.

*

Kaidan doesn’t intend to never move on, he just… doesn’t. 

When he sees her there, on Horizon, in the flesh, as real and solid as the day the Normandy blew apart beneath them, he doesn't know if he's more angry or relieved.  All he knows is that there's plenty of both, and all he wants to do is throw her on the ground and kiss her so hard they both explode.

That isn't him.  The scathing sarcasm isn't either, the way her myriad of titles feels like vitriol dripping from his lips as he recites them from memory.  No one even cares - everyone knows who she is without his monologue, but all he's really doing is stalling.  Stalling until his mind can come up with an explanation that makes sense.  Something that explains away her absence - _two years, two fucking years!_ \- and justifies the way that sometimes he can't sleep at night, her face summoned from his subconscious to float behind his eyelids until he wakes up, reaching for her with arms that ache with emptiness.

And she's still as beautiful as she ever was, as beautiful as the day she rose out of the ash and dust in the wreckage of the Citadel like an avenging angel, flying high and free on Sovereign's fallen limb.

He doesn't kiss her, or get the answers he wants.

*

He's been a fool, a fool all along.  All the regs, the orders, the missions in the world seem as distant as stars, snuffed out one by one on the edges of his vision.  His hardsuit is shattered and he's bleeding - from somewhere - he's bleeding - and this is bad.  He can hear gunfire all around, the twist and scream of burning metal, and beneath it the ground-shaking blare of a Reaper's call to arms.

He didn't think it would end like this. He believed - he still believes.  They can still win, can still put this right, if he can just get up, get moving, get-

They get him off the ground, on his feet as the Normandy swoops from the sky, risking enemy fire and the inferno of Harbinger's main gun for one last desperate rescue.

A beam of light burns at Shepard's back, too bright to look at.  It silhouettes her body and when she turns her head to look behind her, all he can see in the darkness is the orange glow that cuts across her jaw.  Those Cerberus cybernetics he hated might be the only things standing between the galaxy and complete annihilation, and he wants to tell her that he's sorry.  To take it all back.  To tell her that if he had the chance, if he could do it again, he would never have left her side, never doubted her, never-

Never missed an opportunity to let her know that he loved her.  Unequivocally, undoubtedly, always.  He would never have second-guessed holding her hand, sleeping in her room, making love until it was time to fight.  Would never have hesitated to kiss her when he wanted to kiss her, when she needed to be kissed.  Would have never let her go, the way he has to now.

The press of her gloved hand against his cheek is the last thing he feels before the Normandy's cargo door rumbles beneath his feet.  Garrus is pulling him up the ramp, weeping - they're both weeping - red blood and blue on the deck as he finally goes under, surrendering to the blackness as the spectre of her lips touches his, one last time.

_Shepard._


End file.
